Page 53 of The Beast of the Highlands
Tears streamed down Autumn’s face as she rode down the night-darkened road that would lead her to the border… and then to the manor that no longer felt like home.
Natters had turned back half an hour ago, at Autumn’s insistence, leaving her to ride alone on this perilous road. She did not care, however; for there could not have been any pain or torment greater than the one that wracked her heart.
He will suffer gravely when he awakens and reads the letter I left… He will not understand. He will hate me… but that is what he must do, for all our sakes.
Still, imagining his sorrowful face when he opened the letter was an agony unlike any other for Autumn’s already devastated soul. He deserved the truth, but she could not give that to him. All she could do was give him the gift of loathing, as a means to help him forget her. Even if it would sting her for the rest of her life.
Racing along, the tears and the wind blurred her eyes to the point of blindness. If Seashell had not known the path well, by now, Autumn feared they might have gone astray.
The border is not far now. Will he have awoken yet? Has our love gone already?
A fresh well of tears filled her eyes, colluding with the darkness to prevent her from seeing the peril that lay up ahead. Indeed, Seashell was the one to scent the danger as the mare came to an abrupt halt, rearing wildly.
“Seashell!” Autumn shouted, struggling to keep her seat. “Seashell!”
All of a sudden, shadows rushed toward her, peeling out of the hedgerows until she found herself surrounded. Strange hands clawed for Seashell’s reins, tugging on the mare’s head to get her to stop rearing. All the while, Autumn gripped on as best she could, though the fear of being thrown off was nothing compared to the fear of the shadows that circled her.
My first journey to the castle is repeating itself… But I am better equipped than I was then.
Thinking fast, she drew the dagger she wore at her waist and leaped down from the saddle, wielding the blade at her assailants. She held it at an angle, as Leighton had taught her, with her other hand up so she could grasp anyone who came for her and twist away from them.
“Who are you?” she barked. “Are you the men that tried to attack me on this road, many weeks ago?”
The swarm of cloaked figures closed in around her as a trio of them yanked Seashell away. Whirling frantically, Autumn slashed her blade at her assailants, showing them that she was not afraid to use her weapon, this time.
“You are the same men,” she declared, spying glimpses of red through the gaps in their cloaks.
A cold voice chuckled. “Maybe we are and maybe we aren’t. Though it doesn’t look like you’ve learned how to use that thing.”
She swiped the dagger at one of the men, as they tried to take a step toward her. He stumbled back in surprise, but as she lunged for another, to ward off his snaking hand, arms seized her from behind. And in that momentary shock, more hands came toward her, wrenching the dagger out of her hand. Ropes appeared out of nowhere and were swiftly bound around her wrists.
“What do you want with me?” she hissed, unable to hide her frustration that she had failed to protect herself.
I should never have let Natters ride back.
During their ride together, Autumn had offered her forgiveness to the poor soldier. And though he had thanked her, she was not sure if he had accepted her forgiveness. Perhaps, he thought he did not deserve it, though she could not blame him for his actions. She had told him as much. And yet, she could not forgive herself for the letter she had left with Flynn, either.
The cloaked men ignored her question and dragged her up onto Seashell’s back. The mare stamped her feet and snorted loudly, but she seemed to realize that there was nothing to be done. And so, she allowed herself to be led by one of the soldiers, guiding Autumn to wherever these men were taking her.
“I am an Englishwoman!” she wheezed. “If you are English soldiers, you are duty-bound to defend me, not capture me! You should release me immediately, under the laws of His Majesty, the King! I have committed no crime!”
The cloaked soldiers continued to ignore her, throughout her many protests, as they followed a darkened route through densely packed trees. She did not know where they were going but she knew one thing: it was not going to end well for her.
Is this my punishment for not doing more to fight Keira?
It did not seem fair, when she had been trying to do the righteous thing. Especially as, if she died here, there would be no way of ever telling Flynn the truth. And, right now, she wished she could do that, more than anything. Otherwise, she would pass from this Earth with the image of his heartbroken face seared into her mind.
* * *
Some twenty minutes later, an encampment appeared out of the trees. It was made of roughshod tents and a large central fire, surrounded by more soldiers rubbing their hands for warmth. None of the tents were flying the English flag, which seemed both underhanded and suspicious.
If you are supposed to be here, you would have no qualms about flying the country’s colors.
“What is the meaning of this?” Autumn demanded to know as the cloaked men brought Seashell to a standstill.
One of them—a particularly gigantic fellow—grasped Autumn about the waist and threw her unceremoniously over his shoulder. Continuing to ignore her, this giant man trudged through the mire of too many boots in one small span of ground, until he came to the largest tent in the encampment. Pulling back the canvas flap, he carried her inside, where he proceeded to dump her on the ground in a heap.
With the wind knocked out of her, she could not even muster a suitable torrent of insults before the fellow lumbered back out of the tent again.
